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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076226">My Heart was Flawed, so Hold My Hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething'>justbecauseyoubelievesomething</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Barista Bellamy Blake, Canon Compliant, Canon Speculation, Crack Treated Seriously, Delinquents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Forgiveness, Found Family, Healing, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sanctum Farmhouse, background memori - Freeform, everyone is so soft, this got way more emotional for me than i was intending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:21:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is my first time trying real coffee,” she admits quietly.</p>
<p>He chuckles a little.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I figured.”</p>
<p>“What should I get?”</p>
<p>He freezes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...Or Bellamy opens a coffee shop on Sanctum.</p>
<p>A Bellarke/Bellamy one-shot for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 15: coffee shop AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The 100 Fix-Its and Rewrites, Writer's Month 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>My Heart was Flawed, so Hold My Hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from "Broken Crown" by Mumford and Sons. </p>
<p>I'm kind of tempted to just make a whole Bellamy post-canon playlist now, because I stumbled across so many good songs for him while writing this. Aaaand I just have a lot of emotions about Bellamy Blake now, guys...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s something a little crazy about opening a coffee shop of all things, once everything is said and done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy is feeling a little crazy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sanctum limps along like a wounded animal after the two massive battles it faced in a matter of days. Survivors still sleep in tents alongside the rubble of their former homes. A pitiful mix of Eligius prisoners and lost Sanctum sheep bond over their meager campfires while the disbanded Disciples still linger on the outskirts, not sure how they’re meant to fit in between the broken pieces. Murphy and Emori move like comforting shadows from group to group, whispering encouragements and fostering connections. Raven and Gabriel work the technical side, making plans for rebuilding and refortifying. Clarke, Octavia, and Echo have a sort of natural rapport going as they approach the politics angle from the shadows, lending their leadership skills to Murphy’s and Emori’s established relationships. Even Miller and Niylah are carrying their weight, helping Jackson with the wounded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Bellamy feels pretty useless, all things considered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lower than useless. He feels the sideways glances and cutting whispers tossed his way. There’s no denying that he, in part, enabled this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first night, after the battle is over and Cadogan’s body is dumped unceremoniously into the mass pyre with the other victims, Bellamy goes back to the farmhouse and rips the white robes from his body. His hands shake as he strikes a match over the crumpled fabric and lets it fall. It takes a few more matches and some extra kindling, but the robes burn, just like Cadogan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy watches the ashes fade until there’s nothing left, just to make sure. Then he takes a shower. A long shower. There’s more than blood that needs washed from his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The others forgive him. Almost too readily, in his opinion. Octavia with a hug that makes him want to start crying then and there. Raven after a long and painful talk. She needs words to understand things and he’s known that for a long time. Miller pulls him into a stiff hug and claps him awkwardly on the shoulder saying something about being even now and Bellamy knows he’s supposed to laugh, but it hits too close to home. Echo is the hardest, her face still drawn tight with the pain she so rarely shows. Even after they talk, Bellamy knows there’s no going back. No fixing the way he treated her. They’ll grow and heal though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then there’s Clarke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke was the first one to forgive. The one to bring him back. The one to guide him home with that light she seems to reserve just for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t deserve her. Doesn’t deserve any of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Especially not when he walks the streets of Sanctum, the destruction all too clear around his feet, and feels helpless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And more than a little crazy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The farmhouse has a canister of coffee grounds in a back cabinet. Bellamy finds it while cleaning the kitchen in an attempt to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something. The deep, rich smell reminds him vaguely of his mother. A very, very long time ago, before Octavia was even a thought. He remembers his mother’s smile as she woke him up to go to school. Her soft, sing-song voice, the way her slender hands lingered on her cracked, aluminum mug. It washes over him in a wave of comfort and golden memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands falter and he almost drops the can. Cadogan tried to take those memories from him too. Taint them. Destroy everything his mother would have wanted for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy firms his chin. He’s taking them back. Every scrap of himself that he lost on that mountain top. Starting with this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He digs out more equipment over the next few days. Everyone else is too busy to stop in for more than a few minutes, so no one notices what he’s up to at first. He finds pots and filters and experiments with various strengths of brewing. Madi helps him scout the farmland to figure out where the coffee beans came from. Together they walk through rows of fruit trees and fields of vegetables, Picasso weaving back and forth between their legs. They find the coffee beans and after some trial and error they figure out how to harvest them and grind them. The rich, earthy smell clings to Bellamy at night as he climbs into bed and it’s something different than the too-clean smell of Bardo. Something safe and real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he starts putting up signs in town, Murphy finally approaches him with something like humor playing at the edges of his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A coffee shop? Are you joking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy shrugs and Murphy clenches his fist a little too tightly at his side. Bellamy recognizes he’s walking a fine line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want to do something for people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haven’t you done enough?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tone isn’t bitter, just tired, but Bellamy flinches anyways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one has to come if they don’t want to. I figured that way everyone can keep their distance from me until they’re ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murphy looks him up and down, eyes narrowed and assessing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re serious about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve already got it all set up.” Bellamy wipes his palms shakily on his pants. “I have a small menu right now, but I’ll start figuring out more flavors. More ways to make different drinks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murphy blinks at him a few more times and finally waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll stop by.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s all the approval Bellamy needs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens his coffee shop, right there in the kitchen of the farmhouse. Madi excitedly ties on an apron and waits at the door to greet customers. And Bellamy tries not to lick his lips too many times out of nervousness as he waits behind his countertop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One hour ticks by. Then two. Madi sits on the floor in the doorway and pets Picasso. Three hours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy slumps against the counter. He should have known better. Should have let it all lie. Should have accepted his fate and done something useful instead. Or nothing at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Madi, could I get through please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The familiar voice startles him back into the present and Madi is jumping to her feet with a wide grin as Clarke steps cautiously over the threshold. She meets his gaze and she’s smiling, eyes so bright it makes his throat ache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re open for business, right?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens and closes his mouth a few times, lips curiously dry now. Finally he manages to brokenly clear his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, yeah. Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good!” Clarke confidently steps up to the counter. “Because I am dying for some caffeine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy blinks at her again and the warmth of her smile is like the sun rising, lighting up every dark corner of his doubts. He hurriedly gestures behind him to the menu hanging on the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, what can I get for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm…” she taps her fingers absently on the counter as she eyes the menu and Bellamy’s gaze is drawn to her hands. He’s seized with the absurd desire to reach out and grab her hand. But he holds himself back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is my first time trying real coffee,” she admits quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckles a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I figured.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What should I get?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He freezes. Such a small question. Such a small decision. Yet just the fact that she... trusts him… He can’t wrap his mind around that for a second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand is moving. Moving. Stretching. Resting gently on his own. He looks up into her bright eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wets his lips again. “Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve got this,” she whispers. “You’ve got this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her unshakeable faith in him rocks him to his core. And breaks the frozen spell holding him in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clears his throat and leans back. “I would recommend a medium brew then. Hot. Start with the basics.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright.” She grins. “I trust you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There it is in hard words, glinting like a sword blade poised over his heart. He takes a deep breath and internalizes her sunshine smile. Focuses. Then starts to brew. The dark smell of roasted coffee beans fills the kitchen and he breathes it in, willing himself to relax. He hears Clarke and Madi chattering behind him and Picasso’s low woof as he settles at their feet and his nerves start to calm. He’s practiced enough that his hands move almost on their own, heating, pouring, stirring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The result is a single mug of dark coffee, the bubbles a soft golden against the yellow porcelain rim. He picks the yellow mug because it reminds him of Clarke’s hair. He’s weak for her. That’s becoming increasingly clear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t seem to notice as she takes the mug from him with another smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Careful. It’s hot,” he says faintly, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his knees are suddenly wobbly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods slightly and purses her lips, blowing gently over the surface. Bellamy shouldn’t be looking so closely at her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He backs several steps away as she carefully brings her lips to the rim of the mug and takes a cautious sip. Immediately her eyes widen and she smacks her tongue quietly a few times in her mouth as if she’s trying to taste it again and again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, this is... “ She bends and takes another small sip. “This is… I like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do?” He feels like the air is being sapped from his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” She takes another sip, this time a longer, slurping one. “Bellamy, this is… I love it!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He breathes again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re just saying that…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him a look that reminds him of the dropship days. “You know if it was terrible I would call you out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A forbidden memory of a short time ago flashes through his head. Clarke’s trembling lip and dark eyes as she told him to float himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek sharply. “I know you would.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze softens. “Hey, this is wonderful. I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows she means it. Whatever else happens, Clarke likes his coffee. He never would have imagined that would be so important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what she tells the others, but the following days, more curious customers trickle into the farmhouse. First it’s just a few of their family. Octavia and Miller come in together and spend most of the time bent over their mugs in the corner, talking softly to each other. Bellamy can’t hear them, but he can guess what sort of talk they’re having, especially when they both leave with tear stains on their cheeks, but linked arm in arm. It gives him hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Niylah starts hanging around all hours of the day, always drawn to learning new trades. He finally laughs and tosses her an apron. He needs another set of hands behind the counter anyways as word spreads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jordan and Hope are daily customers, not always coming together, but always ending up at the same table. Sometimes they bring books with them and Bellamy’s pretty sure he sees Jordan scribbling notes in the margins of some Korean writings before trading with Hope. Bellamy’s heart throbs with pride and grief as the ghosts of Monty and Harper hover at the corners of his vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murphy brings Emori “on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>royal</span>
  </em>
  <span> date” he announces smugly as he pulls out a chair for her with a flourish of his elegant cape and everyone in earshot rolls their eyes and hides their fond smiles. Murphy and Emori also end up bringing more than half the population of Sanctum with them, as their loyal followers realize that Bellamy poses no danger to them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Echo and Raven are some of the last to try the shop and they still don’t quite look him in the eye. But he makes them both a special mix, adding a hint of cinnamon and vanilla to the grounds and he sees the way they both perk up as they sip the concoction. They don’t come back for a few more weeks, but one day Bellamy looks up and sure enough they’re waiting at the back of the line. It’s a work in progress, but at least it’s progress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then there’s Clarke. She’s there every day. Sometimes first thing in the morning. Sometimes not until he’s about to close the doors at night. Sometimes in the midst of the busiest crowds, where she blends into the groups and couples of their family and laughs and chats with them. But no matter the time, she’s always there. And somehow, as Bellamy gazes at her across the room, she always seems to sense his doubts and she tilts her head towards him with a smile and a nod as if to say “you’ve got this”.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I trust you.”</span>
</p>
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